Just a Soldier
by WeaselNinja1206
Summary: Bellek is lucky: He's been drafted into the Imperial Guard! Now all he has to do is stay alive.......


_A little something inspired by a small game between a friend and I. May be a One shot, maybe not. For reference, magnoculars are the same as binoculars, and a vox-set is essentially an infantryman's radio. Enjoy._

"One standard issue Flak Jacket, Grey; One standard issue regimental blouse, blue; One helmet, Grey; Standard issue combat boots, size ten, black; One standard pair regimental combat pants, Green with tiger stripes; Two pair standard combat socks, black; One standard issue belt and buckle, black and silver. NEXT!" The Sergeant pointed harshly down the corridor as the next man in line shoved the unfortunate private out of the way.

Quietly, the poor lad moved to the side of the corridor and began to dress. After he was ready, he moved on down the corridor and resumed his place in line, now looking something like a soldier in the mass of Grey helmets and flak jackets. Slowly, the line moved forward until it was the private's turn; but by then, he'd heard the Sergeants' shouting and knew what to expect as he hurried down the line.

"One standard issue lasgun, Grey; one standard issue canteen and holster; one standard issue bayonet and holster; one extra las-pack, two standard issue grenades. NEXT!"

The soldier made his way down the hallway after checking to ensure the safety was on, and shouldered his weapon. After putting everything in its place, he made his way down the poorly illuminated halls toward the assembly area. As he shouldered his way through the crowds he wondered if he would ever get used to warp travel; the windows were sealed shut and the sounds of scratching and shrieking could be heard on the outside of the hull if one listened closely. He'd never been fond of flying, let alone zipping through space; no, put some solid earth under his feet as the almighty emperor intended, and he'd do just fine, thank you very much.

As he made his way past the crowds and through one of the breach doors, he found himself in the ship's mess hall, where several lieutenants sat at a table giving soldiers directions. He waited his turn quietly and saluted as he got up to the table, where a mean looking lieutenant gave him a half- assed salute in return.

"Name and ID?"

"Erren T. Bellek, 934177562480, sir." The man shuffled through papers until he found the one he was looking for.

"Report to Sergeant Banks! NEXT!" Holding back a frown the soldier made his way past the table and started looking around. The mess hall's tables had been retracted into the floor, leaving a massive, nearly cavernous space where it seemed thousands of soldiers were wandering around in seeming chaos. Cracking his neck, Bellek started to look for anything with stripes; after all, if he found one Sergeant, they may be able to direct him to another one, right? After walking through the mess of men and Grey, he saw one man with Sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, and made his way up, stopping just short of the man.

"Excuse me, sir, I had a question." The larger man turned around, and Bellek fought to hold back a double-take: The man's left side of his face was one giant mess of scar tissue. The man was grinning, though the scars made it look like he was grimacing.

"Yeah, private?"

"Sir, would you know where I would find Sergeant Bank's squad? The LT's didn't tell me where to look." The bigger man grinned even wider.

"You're a lucky one, kid. Banks knows his stuff. His squad is down the hall to the left, near the corner. Look for the guy that looks like he spends way to much time on his appearance and has a stick up his ass."

"Thank you, sir." Bellek turned and made his way further down the hall, looking for someone who looked like they didn't belong as a sergeant. It wasn't too hard to find.

Five men sat on the bare ground cleaning their weapons while a slender man with a massive chainsword stood over them, sharp, hawk-like eyes watching them closely. The man had no facial hair or stubble, no scars, no pockmarks, sleek features, and slicked back, straight black hair. There was not a single crease on his blouse, nor a single thread astray on his uniform. Bellek moaned inwardly; apparently, his new sergeant was going to be a bastard. He came forward and saluted.

"Sir, are you sergeant Banks? The man turned and eyed him from boot to top in seconds, and he steeled himself for whatever shit storm was headed his way.

"Yes. You are?"

"Trooper Bellek, sir, 934177562480." The sergeant stared coldly at the man like he was a statue.

"You are the qualified marksman, right?" Bellek ignored the sudden turn of heads as the troopers on the ground suddenly paid attention to the conversation; apparently, hitting what you shot at most of the time was a big deal.

"I scored high enough for marksman, yes, sir." The sergeant gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Good. Join the others and start cleaning your weapon. When you're done, clean your other gear. When you finish that, clean the weapon again. You are to alternate this pattern until I say otherwise, understood?" Bellek was starting to dislike the man; his voice had no inflection, like it was all monotones, like a robot. Bellek hated robots. He nodded anyway.

"Yes sir." And with that, he moved to the back of the group of men and sat down, removing his gear as he did so, and picking up a supply kit that was sitting in a pile. Opening it up, he put away the shaving and toiletry kit and brought out the weapon cleaning kit. Once he situated himself, he started on his lasgun, just like he had been taught in the rushed basic course the powers-that-be had thrown him through. He ignored the sergeant as the man inspected the men under him and how they went about their work. He was berating one of them for something to do with his safety, but Bellek ignored it as easily as he ignored everything else around him.

After an hour or so of simply cleaning their gear, the call was put out through the crowd that all sergeants were to report to the assignment table for an update. Banks was hardly out of earshot before some of the troopers started complain about him or insulting him behind his back; Bellek kept his attention on his work and kept doing as he was told. He listened in vaguely as they speculated as to why an entire continent had to be immediately drafted into service as quickly as they had. Eventually, one of them tapped his boot to get his attention. He looked up at the guy in front of him: Skinny blonde with a slender build sitting next to a giant vox pack.

"What?" The guy blinked and asked him again.

"Do you think it's something serious?" Bellek decided that if the guy wasn't an idiot, then he certainly had no common sense. That or he didn't use what he had. Still, he figured it probably wasn't a good idea to piss off his squad-mates.

"Well, I figure they probably wouldn't rush us all into uniform if they didn't have somewhere to send us." That brought a laugh from the squad, though one of them riled him up when they added, "Man, you sure have a way of stating the obvious! Glad we got you along, troop!" That only brought a chuckle or two, but Bellek decided that it wasn't worth getting in a fight over it. He returned to his work, and thought of the ministorum priests, who always reminded them that justice laid with the almighty emperor.

He was proven right in seconds when Banks returned and ripped into the new trooper- Delahue, apparently- for not following orders. Bellek was interested this time, though, when the lean man told them to finish cleaning and make it damn quick. He noticed that the other squads in the area were also in a hurry to get ready to go. But other than telling them to speed it up, Banks wasn't talking, and that didn't sit well with Bellek at all.

Bellek had decided that it wasn't just interstellar battleships he didn't like; it was anything that didn't stay on the ground. The drop ship shook violently as it carried the men to their new destination, the cabin poorly lit save for the electronic map built into the floor so that everyone could see it. Sergeant Banks and Sergeant Ettin sat by the door, manipulating the controls as they gave the mission briefing. Bellek couldn't help but feel like they were headed into something unpleasant, like the mating season for the Death snakes back home. Fighting the instinctive shudder, he focused his attention on the map.

The drop zone was in the middle of a small clearing in a smaller forest, surrounded on all sides by fields. Apparently, they were supposed to be flooded at this time of year, so the terrain would be like a marsh. There were two roads leading north on the east and west sides; the east road met right up along with some tiny little village, and that was their target. The legend showed that there were two miles of open field between the forest and the village, and another 5 miles north of the village lay a large forest. Apparently, the planetary defense force for the entire continent had rebelled, and they were going to go in to gather surveillance. With enemy activity in the area, they had to secure an initial area for the headquarters command to set up in and then branch out and make larger landing zones for the rest of the regiment.

What Bellek didn't like was the fact that they were dropping into the forest and then walking out into the open, so that if there were any rebels in the village, they'd be ready to shoot. He figured it was just part of the plan that made all infantrymen suffer. The red lights along the top of the cabin began to flash, and the map went black as everyone stood up and got ready to jump. Everyone checked his gear and moved to the door; Bellek made sure his knife was secured inside of his flak jacket, and angled to avoid hitting his chin. In front of him, he could hear Tyson offering a last minute prayer to the emperor, and behind him, he heard Mathews cursing his as his grenades slipped around his back out of reach like they had a dozen times before they boarded the bird. He looked farther ahead and saw Sergeant Banks calmly waiting for the go signal, everything immaculately in place, as if they weren't about to jump out of a flying plane a eight hundred feet in the air. Before he could offer a prayer himself, the light turned on and men were running out the door into the nothingness of the atmosphere.

He gritted his teeth on the way down and swore silently- the ground looked like it was covered in a fine mist or fog, which would make visibility a pain. As he descended he thanked the emperor that he wouldn't get lost from his squad; he could see everyone easily- Banks, Tyson, Mathews, Delahue laughing like a gleeful idiot, Turber hugging his grenade launcher like it was his kid, Ridge counting the myriad of grenades he had strapped to his harness, Simmons watching over his shoulder and waiting for the vox-set to fall off and crash on the ground below, Bastonne watching the horizon as if he could really see anything from this high with the fog, And Berneche with his hands on his harness and knife as he watched- aw hell, here come the trees.

Bellek's world became entirely focused on green and brown as his chute caught in the branches and jerked him to a violent stop. Checking his gear and the ground below him, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his knife, abandoning any idea of hitting the releases on his harness. Cutting his gear free first, he watched hit the ground and then cut himself loose, landing with some dignity by his gear. He quickly strapped it on and made his way up the tree line to where Sergeant Banks stood, immaculate, as the other troopers quickly gathered by him. He quickly had a few go out into the woods a bit to act as a loose perimeter, and made sure he had his people together. Bellek took a knee near Simmons and listened in as he checked in with the Lieutenant and the other squads in the platoon. He only had to wait a few minutes before everyone reported in; apparently, third squad lost a man in the trees and the grenadier in second squad was killed when his chute snapped his neck.

Bellek thought about that for a moment; after all, a guy expected to die in battle or from wounds, not falling into trees, right? It humbled him a little to the situation he found himself in, and he resolved not to take any other things his squad did in the field for granted. His brief introspection was interrupted by Sergeant Banks' harsh order to haul ass to the east road. He didn't have to think much about it as the squad moved quickly through the forest, Simmon's radio tuned downed to reduce noise. Bellek had to restrain a slight smile; the ground was wet and smelled of earth, and reminded him of home, and more importantly, that his feet were back on the ground as the good emperor intended they be.

Huffing a little, he and the others broke out of the trees and into the muddy mess that the map had called a road. Taking a position on the side of the road, he took a knee again, feeling terribly exposed. He noted it was a little chilly; his breath formed in puffs of white smoke as he exhaled, and he wondered if that made him more of a target. He didn't get to answer his question though, since Mathews turned around and asked him, "Didn't they say in the briefing that we were dropping into a clearing?" He nodded. "Then what in the hell was that? I almost broke my damned neck!" Bellek looked out over the fields to his left, scanning for movement.

"Simmons heard on the radio that we lost two guys in the jump." Mathew's head jerked back around, and Delahue turned to look at him from the other side of the road.

"What?" He nodded and Simmons joined in.

"Yup. Third squad lost some guy in the woods, and Second squad's grenadier broke his neck and bought it." Delahue frowned.

"Seriously? Then second's without a specialist?" Simmons shook his head.

"Nah. They gave it to the guy they had carrying the extra rounds for it."

"Does the guy know how to use the damn thing?" That was what Bellek wanted to know. It wouldn't do them any good to have their own man dropping rounds on their heads.

"I can't see anyone forcing an untrained soldier to use a weapon when it could kill your own troops." They were interrupted unexpectedly by Sergeant Banks and his accompanying frown.

"Then you men haven't met any tankers. Shut up and keep your eyes open. Ridge! Tyson! Come here!" The two men rose from their position at the end of the squad and moved up to where sergeant Banks boldly stood in the middle of the muddy road. He handed Ridge a pair of magnoculars.

"You two go up the road a ways and see if you can get some observation going on the village we're headed toward. Don't be seen and DO NOT get shot. Use your judgment if you think you need to come get us, but otherwise stay put and wait for us to catch up. We'll be assaulting right up this road into the village, so you will link up with us as we pass you. And DO NOT break those, or I will dock your pay. Understood?" Ridge nodded and Tyson gave a grunt.

"Good. Then get moving, and quickly!" The rest of the squad stayed silent as the two men trudged up the road quickly and were shortly out of sight, the only noise being the sounds of breathing and the occasional squawk from Simmon's vox. After another few minutes, the radio blared out.

"Tiger 10, Tiger 10, this is Panther 2. We are on line, over."

"Roger, Panther 2. Wait for further instructions. Should be soon. Tiger out." The guys shuffled in the mud, trying to refrain from switching knees to much to attract attention. Bellek turned his head to where Sergeant Banks stood in the center of the road, waiting.

"Sir?" The man gave him a blank look.

"Yes Bellek?"

"Who are we assaulting with?" Bellek looked back down the road.

"We are going to be on our own. First and Second squad will assault the village from the tree line as we move our way up the road and hit the village from the east. Third squad will be held in reserve in order to support whoever needs it first. If we manage to gain a foothold in the village without disrupting the fire on the fields, then third will move onto the road and rush up to reinforce us." Bellek blinked and returned to watching the fields to his right. After a second, though, he turned back.

"Um…sir?" The look he got from his Sergeant showed that he was close to being annoyed.

"Yes?"

"Why aren't we the reserve force?"

"You a coward Bellek?" The trooper blinked.

"Don't know yet, sir. But what are they equipped with that we aren't?"

"The platoon only has two rocket launchers, and one of them is already on line. If we lost both, we'd be screwed." Bellek let out a small 'oh' and went back to watching the fields.

"Tiger 10, Tiger 10, this is Cougar 3. We are in position, over."

"Roger Cougar 3. Hold and wait. Tiger out."

Simmons glanced at Bellek from the other side of the road, and spared him a nervous grin.

"Won't be long now, eh Bellek?" Bellek just grunted and checked the end of his lasgun to make sure there wasn't anything in the barrel. Seeing it clear, he turned back to watching the same patch of field again. The box of god spoke again.

"Saber 6, Saber 6, this is Tiger 10. Do you copy, over?" Sergeant Banks put on a slim headset from his belt and clicked in.

"Tiger 10, this is Saber 6. Go ahead." Mathews spoke softly to the other men.

"What, he's not good enough to get a cat?" That brought a few chuckles underneath the Sergeant's dialog.

"Saber 6, did you send the package, over?"

"Positive, Tiger 10. Package was sent, over."

"Have you gotten the receipt, over?"

"Negative, Tiger 10. I have no receipt at this time. Planning to pick it up on the way if it checks out, over."

"Keep your boots on, Saber. Tiger out." Bellek heard Turber muttering.

"What in the hell was that mess? I didn't understand any of that!" The others chuckled, but Bellek heard the sound of boots slipping through mud. His weapon was up before he knew it, and he was moving into the tall grass that filled the fields. The rest of the squad was seconds behind him, all of them raising their weapons and moving to orient themselves to the new intruders. After a few seconds, Ridge and Tyson appeared outside the grass, and everyone relaxed, though the two men were out of breath. Ridge handed the magnoculars to the Sergeant and started talking.

"There's definitely somebody in the village, we saw'm movin' around. Then about ten more joined'm cuttin' across the road from the fields to the left. They had some heavy mags with'm, sir. Proll'y an autocannon or a heavy bolter, couldn't tell which." Sergeant Banks looked unaffected by the frightening idea of going up against a heavy bolter. A giant gun with rounds that pierced through men like scissors through paper? No thank you!

"Did you see them carrying or wheeling the actual weapon?"

"No, sir."

"Alright, take your positions at the front of the squad, you saw what's up there and know what to expect. Simmons! Patch me through to the LT! NOW!" As the two men moved to the front of the squad, the rest listened in on the vox-set.

"Tiger 10, Tiger 10, this is Saber 6."

"Go ahead, Saber."

"Got my receipt back, Tiger. They marked the matches but missed the candles."

"Acknowledged, Saber. Lion 1 is ready to go, wait for my order. Out." Banks turned and spoke a little louder than usual.

"Alright, check your gear, safeties off, and move up the road ten meters. Do it!" Bellek was on his feet and shuffling behind Mathews. When they reached their new spot and took a knee, Mathews turned around.

"Did anybody have their safety on after we left the woods, or is the Sergeant cracked?" Bellek nodded toward Turber. Mathews followed his eyed for a second, followed by an "oh." Simmons and Sergeant Banks caught up with the squad and moved to the front, behind Ridge and Tyson, but in the middle of the road. Bellek cracked his neck and leaned back enough to stretch his back before shifting to his left knee. Then they heard it.

"Cubs, this is Tiger 10. Knock on the door. I say again, Knock on the door. Tiger out."

"Move it!" Banks shouted with a voice louder than any of them had heard him use before and immediately took off down the road, mud flying behind him with every step. The squad took off after him, though he had a good ten foot lead on them. To his right, Bellek noted that the tree line had stopped and become a giant, watery, grass filled marsh with a large line of Grey men and lasguns moving outward. He kept running, and he could see the village now, though the small huts looked rather vague due to the distance. He kept running and he heard a loud thumping and buzzing noise to his right. He glanced toward the noise and saw flashes coming from the darkened doors of the huts facing the woods. Hearing screams, he spared a glance back toward the men coming from the tree line and saw most of the front rank of the closet squad fall down, water splashing up around them as a heavy bolter tore through them. He didn't have much time to watch, since he heard a popping noise to his front. When he refocused his attention, he couldn't help but laugh; the poor bastards were really messed up; on one hand, they had modern weapons like the dreaded heavy bolter, and the rest were using black powder weaponry! If it weren't for the fact that they could still kill him, he'd probably have kept laughing.

That thought, of course, was right before mini balls started zipping by the men in front of him, and he hurried his steps to keep up the pace in the mud. As the squad passed over a low point in the road, he caught a glimpse of five men ahead, aiming black rifles down toward him, Grey smoke, enshrouding them. He heard the popping noise again, and ahead of him, Ridge dropped face first into the mud without a sound, nearly tripping Turber, who had to jump over his body to keep the pace going; to his credit, he did fire back. Bellek heard the explosion and some screaming, but he didn't have time to look as the heavy bolter emplacement opened fire on the squad from the village. Two rounds zipped past his face and into the field to his left and he ran faster, fighting down the fear that was curling around his stomach.

He could see the enemy now; three men lay dead in pieces in the mud and two more crouched there firing. A round landed in the Sergeant's shoulder and bounced off his flak jacket, and Bellek's faith in the cumbersome thing was increased. His Sergeant returned fire, and he saw the round lodge in a man's jacket, but he didn't go down. _At least that's even_, he thought to himself grimly. The two enemies ahead ran into the village to the right and the squad continued up the road, over mud and fighting the sucking at boots and all the while trying to ignore the popping and the smoke and the zipping noises going by.

He ran even further and a mass of bodies filled the space between two of the front huts closest to the road, the second housing that damned bolter. The mass fired, and the air was full of those little balls again, and his shoulder was burning; he glanced at it and didn't see the part of the jacket that should have been covering his shoulder, but no blood, Emperor be praised. Even more running now, the Sergeant firing a few shots and the enemy ahead reloading far too quickly, Delahue, Simmons and Tyson stopping to fire, no, shouldn't stop, Banks hasn't stopped, and running past them, taking a knee.

He tried to line up a shot as the men behind him came charging up the road, and when they were right in front of him he heard the popping again, and Delahue dropping to the ground, screaming incoherently, holding his very red side and there they were, a bunched mass just waiting to be shot. Ignoring the screaming, he sighted an ugly man just beyond the edge of the first hut and fired, the shot going wild. Second shot plugged him in the chest and he dropped. The smoky space where he'd just shot turned black with dirt, and when it came down three of the men behind the one he'd shot were down, his squad finally getting close enough to do serious damage.

He shoved his gun over his shoulder and grabbed the shoulder straps on Delahue's flak jacket and started to drag the wounded man up the road to hide behind the first hut, though the jerk's screaming and thrashing didn't help much. He got Delahue up to the first hut and away from the shooting when the hut next to it shot up in flames, pieces of the bolter gun flying in the air, and two men behind it firing at the squad dropping from the concussion. He hurried and took a place on the line with the rest of the squad, and lined up a running man in his sights. He inched the gun ahead of the man as he shot, and the man dropped, half hidden behind another hut.

To his left, from a distant hut in the back of the village and apart from the others, a large burly man and four men dressed in sharp Grey officer's uniforms came out with boltguns and lasguns and started shooting into the squad. Simmons dropped with his back aflame, and to the far left he saw Mathews and Berneche drop. Yet the Sergeant kept firing, and so he did too. He fired one shot into a man, and the fellow flinched; his second shot penetrated the jacket and the man dropped. Turber fired a round straight into the big man and he fell in pieces; the sergeant fired a half dozen shots into another man while running at him, and then struck the man next to him on the head with his sword, chains on, and Bellek had to fight the urge to retch at the sight; he'd never known brains were Grey.

There was a lot of shouting now, and he could see that on the end of the village that was farthest from the road, rebels were running as the remnants of his platoon surged forward, huts on fire and smoke filling the air, dead bodies and dirt and blood littering the mud in between. He moved to his left a little and started taking shots at the men who were running away after mowing down those brave enough to face them head on. He lined up on one woman carrying a grenade launcher and dropped her with a shot between her shoulder blades; his next shot caught the sergeant in front of her, and he slid in the mud a little, but didn't move once he was down. His next shot missed, and though his next shot hit all it did was take the man's ear off. The man kept running, and Bellek's next shot bounced off the man's armored jacket. Cursing, he lined up one more shot and let it go. It grazed the man's back, and if it were possible, he ran even faster.

Bellek looked down at his lasgun and wondered if it was permissible to cuss out a weapon.

Listening to the shouts of his sergeant, he moved in between the huts, wrinkling his noise at the smell of blood, smoke and death. As he checked huts to make sure there wasn't anyone hiding in them or any documents left behind, he stopped by the woman he shot. She was face down in the mud, a neat burnt hole resting right on her spine. Nice ass though, even if it didn't do her any good dead. He reached down and untied the knife and sheath she had attached to her belt and slipped it inside his jacket. Taking mementos was generally frowned upon, but accepted in the Imperial Guard, and he figured there would come a time when he would need another knife. After all, it helped to be prepared, didn't it? He rose and made his way back to the edge of the village where his squad had been gunned down; he hoped somebody would survive long enough to get on the medevac planes.


End file.
